


Never Break the Chain

by thequidditchpitch_archivist



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Action/Adventure, Alternate Universe, Angst, Drama, Explicit Sexual Content, M/M, Romance, Slash, The Quidditch Pitch: The Changing Room
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-04-10
Updated: 2006-04-10
Packaged: 2018-10-26 15:15:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,489
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10789260
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thequidditchpitch_archivist/pseuds/thequidditchpitch_archivist
Summary: Set loosely within the 'Together, Alone' universe, set post-OotP. The summer after his 5th year, Ron deals with a death in the family and disconcerting new feelings for Harry. Drama and romance.





	Never Break the Chain

**Author's Note:**

> Note from Annie, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [The Quidditch Pitch](http://fanlore.org/wiki/The_Quidditch_Pitch), which went offline in 2015 when the hosting expired, at a time I was not able to renew it. I contacted Open Doors, hoping to preserve the archive using an old backup, and began importing these works as an Open Doors-approved project in April 2017. Open Doors e-mailed all authors about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact us using the e-mail address on [The Quidditch Pitch collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/thequidditchpitch/profile).

  
Author's notes: Massive thanks to fungus_files for her extraordinary beta.  


* * *

_And if  
You don't love me now  
You will never love me again  
I can still hear you saying  
You would never break the chain.  
  
-The Chain  
Fleetwood Mac_  
  
Ron concentrated on not fidgeting in the early afternoon sun. Ginny clutched at his right hand as though he was trying to escape and, while he wished he could, there was nothing for it. Hot, silent tears coursed down her face, and Ron squeezed her fingers in the most brotherly, assuring way possible. He tried to ignore the fact that his mother, two seats down, could barely breathe because she was sniffing so much.  
  
They were at Fred's funeral.  
  
George read a short poem before Padma Patil said a few words. She hadn't been close to any of the Weasleys, George least of all, but she and Parvati were the only other identical twins at Hogwarts, and it had been George's idea to ask her to say something.  
  
"You wouldn't understand, Ron," George had said, his voice awkwardly heavy and his eyes still bloodshot. "Only another twin could possibly know what it's like. No offense, but you just can't fathom it."  
  
Ron couldn't. So, there he sat in the heat of July, unable to look at his parents because it would make him fall apart. Instead, he tried to be a source of strength for Ginny, who was crumbling despite his best efforts. It was just so fucking wrong. He wanted to go to war now. NOW. He would be a Dumbledore's Army of One and take out the psychopathic-  
  
"Hey. It's over."  
  
Ron looked to his left and, with dim surprise, realised he was staring into bright green eyes.  
  
"Ron, are you okay? You don't look right." Harry pushed his glasses back on his sweaty face, looking worriedly at Ron.  
  
All of a sudden Ron noticed the empty ache in his hand and knew that Ginny was off talking with some of her classmates and, for once, he and Harry were equal. Harry's parents had been killed; Ron's brother, albeit one who tormented him but never with any true malevolence, was dead. George was alone. Ron had to go back to school in the fall.  
  
Yet he'd never felt more distant from his best friend in his life.  
  
"Besides Fred being killed? I'm fine," he said, immediately regretting his sarcasm, which tasted like rotten stuff in his mouth. "Sorry," he mumbled as he pushed up from his chair. "It's just hard, y'know?"  
  
Harry looked intently at him, placing his hand on Ron's arm. "Yeah. I know."  
  
Ron nodded, grateful. "Gonna go see Padma. Meet you back here?"  
  
"Sure."  
  
Ron was sure that she still despised him after the aborted Yule Ball fiasco in their fifth year but, as he made his way to her and enfolded her in a crushing embrace, he felt that somehow things had been righted. After a few tense moments, she melted into his chest, murmuring, "I'm so sorry."  
  
"I am too," Ron replied, rubbing his cheekbone on her dark hair. He towered over almost everybody now. Of all people, Ron imagined she must have a keen idea about how much George was hurting, his crushing loss. All of the lightheartedness had been ripped away from George, now mourning his brother as no one else could.  
  
Padma eventually stepped away from Ron with a small sigh and sought her twin. Ron turned and began looking for Harry when Justin Finch-Fletchley approached him.  
  
"My condolences, Ron," he said a bit awkwardly, hands in his pockets. "Don't really know what else to say. It must be terrible."  
  
Ron picked at a hangnail while trying to think of an appropriate reply.  
  
"It is."  
  
Ron had noticed the curly-haired boy giving him occasional looks in class and at meals, the kind of looks Ron eventually figured out meant that he was interested in Ron. Startled at first, after a few weeks of seeing how he felt when he put a bloke in the mix of his masturbatory images, it surprised him to realise that he wasn't repulsed by the idea. He didn't know quite what to make of it, but it seemed Ron fancied both genders. Ron had never been brazen enough to really do anything with Justin, though they'd sat leg to leg studying for Transfigurations several times. He'd gotten slightly hard and found it hard to focus as his mind wandered, wondering how it would feel to have another bloke kneel in front of him and take Ron in his mouth. That fantasy had remained relegated to wishful thinking only. He'd never told Harry about his self-discovery, figuring that the last thing he wanted to do was alienate his best friend.  
  
"Well, I guess you have other people to talk to," Justin said, scanning the guests talking in hushed clusters.  
  
"Yeah. Thanks for coming." Ron paused before reaching out and placing a hand on Justin's shoulder. "Means a lot."  
  
"See you in September." With a surreptitious approving glance down at Ron's chest, Justin left to join the few others in attendance from his House.  
  
Ron turned and went back to Harry, who stood with his hair askew and yet half plastered to his forehead with the heat. Despite all Harry'd gone through, he looked positively innocent to Ron, and an irrational surge of anger coursed through him. Except for those rare times when Harry was troubled by his scar and heard what he thought was his mother screaming, he didn't actually remember losing his parents. _But he was there when Cedric was killed,_ Ron reminded himself. _This is your best mate. He's worried about you for once._  
  
"Can I meet you at the Three Broomsticks in an hour, say? A couple of butterbeers would go down well, and I promise not to keep you from your family for too long," Harry said.  
  
Out of the corner of his eye Ron took in the scene around him: George was talking with Remus, Dumbledore consoling his parents. The last place he wanted to be this evening was at the Burrow. No, that would be the second-to-last place he wanted to be. George would be at the Cleansweep, his and Fred's flat. That would be unbearable to imagine, but his parents' home would be just as horrific. Best to go out, even for a little while.  
  
"You're on." Ron nodded, grateful.  
  
Harry gazed solemnly at him.  
  
Ron began to feel like a charity case. The prospect of how people would look at him once they got back to Hogwarts made his stomach churn.  
  
***  
  
It wasn't until a few days after the memorial service that Ron was clobbered by the knowledge that Fred was really gone. It was a Sunday afternoon and he'd taken a long shower. When he padded out of the bathroom that he'd shared for years with Fred and George, out of habit he looked for the infernal words of ridicule that had always hung in the air when the twins were there. They'd taken to writing phrases that said things like "hope you're grand spanking (the monkey) clean" with some of their sparklers. They usually spent Sundays back at the Burrow, so even though they had their own flat, Ron couldn't escape them.  
  
Despite the years of fraternal torture he'd endured from them, now he would have given anything to hear the occasional small explosion and subsequent excited chatter that so often came from the twins' room, or see "Ronniekins, King Sir Wanksalot" floating down the hallway.  
  
After toweling his hair dry and putting on a pair of Chudley Cannons boxers, Ron did some situps and pushups before using the weight set he was borrowing from Charlie. He was determined to be stronger, as it appeared that the war was truly coming to a head. It had seemed so distant before Weasley's Wizarding Wheezes had been attacked, but now the prospects were all too real. Ron didn't want to die, that was certain, but he now had very personal reasons to be ready to fight when the time came.  
  
Still panting slightly, he sat down at his small desk to write to Harry, who was spending the summer at Hogwarts taking all kinds of secret additional lessons. He felt a pang of guilt as he thought about what to say; oddly enough, since the funeral he'd had vivid, erotic dreams that involved Harry. He and Harry, to be exact. Ron knew they were inappropriate, not to mention that while very satisfying, the possibility of them actually happening outside of his head was completely nil.  
  
_Hey Harry,_ Ron wrote. _Will you meet me at Wheezes? Say_ _three o'clock_ _? I think George wouldn't mind the company.  
  
-Ron_  
  
A couple of hours later Ron was glad to see that Harry was there to meet him outside of the shop.  
  
"Thanks, mate," Ron said.  
  
"You've been there for me." Harry gave him a sympathetic smile and put a hand to his shoulder.  
  
The casual touch brought a flurry of images from the escapades he had when sleeping, and Ron's face grew hot.  
  
"Let's go inside," he said quickly.  
  
George was determined to get Weasley's Wizarding Wheezes back in business. "For Fred," he'd insisted. "This was all we ever wanted." Aside from repairing the shattered front windows, however, he refused to use magic to clean things up. "It just doesn't seem right to wave my bloody wand around and fix everything like nothing's happened. I'd feel better taking my time with it."  
  
The two helped George through the rest of the afternoon, and he seemed very appreciative. At one point Ron was on his hands and knees, scrubbing a particularly nasty stain on the floor when he accidentally backed into Harry's legs, arse first.  
  
"Oh! Sorry!" he exclaimed, quickly shuffling forward.  
  
"It's all right," Harry said, amused. He took his time looking at Ron, who finally sat back on his feet, slightly flushed.  
  
"What?"  
  
"Have you been training or something? Those are some arms you've got now."  
  
Ron began blushing in earnest. It was quite hot in the shop and he'd taken off his shirt after an hour or so of intense cleaning.  
  
"Harry, don't flatter him," George said from the other side of the shop. "Surely you realise he's simply managed to find Percy's stash of Montague's Muscle Maker. Merlin knows he needed it."  
  
"Piss off, you!" Ron was grateful to have the banter, feeling suddenly self-conscious. He took the shirt that he'd tossed on a nearby stool and, after casting a quick cleaning spell, put it back on. "Just been borrowing Charlie's weights, that's all," he said to Harry.  
  
Harry nodded. "Quite impressive."  
  
"Thanks," Ron mumbled. "Reckon it's time for dinner. Mum'll be furious if we're late. Wanna join us?"  
  
"I'd love to, but I've got to get back to Hogwarts. Owl anytime, though."  
  
Ron stood up, his knees creaking. "'Kay."  
  
"See you, George!" Harry said, retrieving his broom from behind the till counter.  
  
"Great! Thanks for your help."  
  
From the doorframe, Harry gave Ron an appraising look. "If you keep up with whatever you're doing, you may get switched to Beater." He winked. Ron stood staring after him, mulling over the fact that he was pretty sure Harry had been, well, flirting with him.  
  
He shook his head. _Impossible._  
  
***  
  
Meeting on Sundays to help George restore Wheezes became their routine for the rest of the summer. They were very pleasant days, though any information Ron tried to get out of Harry about what he was actually doing up at the school met with firm refusal.  
  
"I wish I could tell you, I really do," he said earnestly, standing on a ladder next to Ron's. The two were side by side while they painted a side wall a shocking shade of green.  
  
"But you can't. I know."  
  
There was quiet aside from the sound of brushes on wood.  
  
"Hard to believe we're going back for our sixth year," Ron mused, using the back of his wrist to get his hair out of his eyes.  
  
"Yeah. Reckon I'm ready, though."  
  
Ron looked at him, amazed at how composed his best friend seemed of late, despite the alarming articles in the _Daily Prophet_ about missing Aurors and Death Eater attacks. Whatever lessons Harry was learning, they made him seem more mature than his sixteen years.  
  
"Harry," Ron said quietly, "what're you hiding from me? I'm your best friend. You know I can keep a secret."  
  
Harry shook his head, pausing to lean closer to Ron. "Of course I do, but I can't go back on a promise to Dumbledore. Let's just say that I've learned a lot about myself."  
  
Ron turned so he was mere inches from Harry's face. "I hate it when you talk in bloody code," he muttered. "But-"  
  
"Oy, blokes, none of that in the shop!" George yelled from the other corner. "Save the snogging for school."  
  
"Snogging?" Ron exclaimed in shock as he jerked away from Harry, his sudden motion causing the ladder to tilt off-balance.  
  
Harry grabbed Ron's shirt, saving him from toppling over, but his brush and the can of lurid paint fell to the floor with a loud crash. Ron felt that his pulse was going at the speed of snitch wings and his heart was thudding madly in his chest, and it wasn't all merely because he'd almost fallen himself. Harry still clutched a wad of the t-shirt, a curious look on his face.  
  
"Shit, Ron," George grumbled as he strode over to them. "It was a joke. From now on you're only painting when Mr. Dashing here isn't around. Bollocks, what a mess." He kicked at the paint can.  
  
"Sorry," Ron said, though he was beginning to get angry. "Thanks, Harry, I think I've got it."  
  
Harry slowly loosened his fist, releasing Ron, who attempted to straighten out his shirt. Harry's inscrutable expression combined with Ron's frustration at himself brought his temper to a head.  
  
"Just use a cleaning spell, George," he snapped, going down the ladder.  
  
"I bloody well will not. You know how I feel about that."  
  
"Bollocks, George! It was an accident. It doesn't have anything to do with before." Ron stomped over to the till to get his wand.  
  
"Before? That's what you call being attacked out of the fucking blue when the most threatening thing in this shop is a gag Strangling Tie? Don't you point that-"  
  
"We'll take care of it," Harry said, standing between Ron and George, directly in front of Ron's wand. He'd climbed down during the row and even though he was obviously trying to mollify George, somehow it worked in a way that would've proven laughable if Ron had said it.  
  
"Right. I'm going to the back for a bit. Think I hear a butterbeer calling me." George gave Ron a last look of disgust before heading to the back of the shop through an archway with **Here There Be Mayhem: Weasleys Only** painted above it.  
  
"Git. That's what he gets for saying stupid things like that." Ron kicked half-heartedly at the ladder.  
  
"What- you don't think I'm snogable?" Harry teased.  
  
Ron began to feel abused. "Leave me out of it, okay? I'm sure heaps of girls would leap at the chance."  
  
A more serious look replaced Harry's smile. "But what if-"  
  
"Look, Harry. I'm just not in the mood. I've had a lot on my mind, too, and I do want to talk to you about it, but not right now. Girls want to kiss you, and they don't seem to have the same interest in me. Satisfied?"  
  
Remorse hit Ron as soon as the words were out of his mouth.  
  
"Sure, Ron. Guess it was time I went back to Hogwarts anyway." Harry shrugged off Ron's comment, but they had been best friends long enough for Ron to know that he had managed to really hurt Harry's feelings.  
  
"I'll owl you tomorrow," Ron promised, his spirits sinking even lower.  
  
Harry nodded as he retrieved his broomstick, but his body language radiated caution. "Okay. I'm probably going to be too busy getting ready for the start of term to make it to Wheezes again. Tell George I've been glad to help out."  
  
"I will."  
  
Ron spent most of that evening mentally kicking himself, wishing he had a time turner to go back and not get so pissed off. What had Harry planned to say before Ron interrupted him? Why did Ron always talk without thinking, and at the most inappropriate times?  
  
That night he was plagued with the most explicit, jealous dream he'd ever had. He was tied to a chair, forced to watch Harry, who seemed to be having the best sex of his life, with some boy Ron didn't recognise. In the morning he woke up, his jaw aching from clenching his teeth in his sleep.  
  
***  
  
A fortnight later Ron was back at Hogwarts and while things weren't awkward with Harry, neither were they as comfortable and chummy as they'd always been in the past. Harry seemed ever more withdrawn, and Ron wasn't ready to confront him about it and find out if it had to do with him missing Sirius, or Ron's dismissive comments, or both.  
  
Then came the morning when Ron began cursing more than usual.  
  
"Seamus fucking Finnigan! What on Merlin's bloody beard is that?"  
  
A gratified chuckle rumbled from Seamus, echoing in the showers.  
  
"Tattoo, Weasley."  
  
There were a few moments when all that could be heard were the cheery splashing sounds of water drops on tile.  
  
"No kidding! But it isn't moving."  
  
"Do you want it to?"  
  
The leering comment ricocheted as two of their grumpy roommates who despised the morning moved into the doorway of the bathroom.  
  
"No," Ron said, disgusted.  
  
"It's Muggle done, a Gryffindor lion, obviously."  
  
"Looks good," Harry said, squinting at it.  
  
"You don't even have your glasses on," Ron pointed out, feeling a twinge of jealousy. "You wouldn't know if it were a lion or a Veela."  
  
There was another steam-filled pause.  
  
"I think it suits you," Dean yawned before padding out of the bathroom. "Get me up in time for breakfast, there's a good lad. I'm famished. And bloody tired."  
  
"Right-oh," Seamus called as he returned to his shower.  
  
Ron stood staring at the golden lion inked on Seamus' lightly freckled back. Dean was right; it did suit the brazen Irishman.  
  
"You should get one," Ron heard Harry say. He was lounging against the doorjamb, his pyjama pants barely cresting his narrow hips.  
  
"Who, me?" Ron asked, acutely aware of his nudity in a way he'd never felt before. There was nothing for it, though; he hadn't even washed his hair yet.  
  
"Yes you," Harry chuckled as Seamus turned off the taps. After shaking his hair like a wet dog, grabbing a towel and doing a perfunctory drying off, Seamus wrapped the cloth around his waist and left the room, pausing to let Harry look at the tattoo up close since Harry, indeed, didn't have his glasses on. "Brilliant, Seamus."  
  
"Course I am," Seamus said, winking as he departed.  
  
Ron felt awkward. Harry was usually one of the last in their room to get up and, while not prudish, Ron didn't feel right having Harry standing there, staring at him. He turned away, fetching some shampoo and lathering his hair, closing his eyes as he did so. They snapped back open when he heard the tap next to his turn on and Ron felt a wave of heat to his right. Ron pretended not to notice that Harry was standing next to him, basking in the hot water face first.  
  
_Hurry up!_ Ron chastened himself. _Just get done with it and get out._  
  
He soaped his privates as briskly as possible before leaning down to scrub briefly at his feet. He righted himself and turned off the water, looking around for his towel, pretending that he was alone.  
  
_Dry off quickly,_ said the voice in his head. _You're just friends, you're just friends, you're just-_  
  
Fingers slid down the wet skin of Ron's bicep while he was rubbing his hair with the towel. Ron froze, feeling his heart thud and his blood begin to concentrate in a most inconvenient and embarrassing part of his anatomy.  
  
"There," Harry said definitively, tapping at Ron's freckled muscle. "It needs to go there."  
  
Ron slowly turned around, determined to slow his fast-paced breathing. "You really think so?" he asked as nonchalantly as possible, lowering the towel and stepping backward. "Never thought about getting one. That Seamus, he's such a bloody show-off." He tied the towel tightly at his waist, feeling as though Harry could still see every freckle, the way he was looking at him. Ron was grateful both for the filmy steam drifting in the room and the fact that Harry's vision was blurred. It was reassuring given the surreal exchange in which they were engaged. An unclothed exchange, at that. That had never mattered before. The five of them teased each other ruthlessly and with abandon but, until the Ladder Incident, as Ron thought of it, there had never been an undercurrent of anything else.  
  
"I'll just let you have some privacy," Ron went on. Despite the slick floor, he bid a hasty retreat.  
  
"Ron."  
  
Ron skidded to a stop.  
  
"Can we talk for just a minute?"  
  
Ron shrugged before engaging in a slow turn to face Harry. "Sure. Why don't we get dressed first?" The more layers of clothes he put between himself and Harry, the better, Ron decided.  
  
"Not quite yet."  
  
The door shut and locked behind Ron.  
  
Unsettled, Ron exclaimed, "Oy! How'd you do that?"  
  
Harry walked purposefully up to him, hands by his sides. "Wandless magic. Been practising."  
  
Ron kept his gaze on Harry's face, not daring even to look at his prominent collarbones, which appeared indecently sexy.  
  
"Look, mate," Ron began.  
  
"At Wheezes I told you I'd learned a lot about myself," Harry interrupted as though Ron hadn't said anything. "One thing that I resolved is very important, maybe even life-changing."  
  
"Life-changing?"  
  
Harry nodded, anxiousness evident as he paused. "Have you ever felt that there was a part of you that you didn't understand, and then all of a sudden it sort of clicked into place?"  
  
Ron thought for a minute. "I suppose." He didn't really have a clue what Harry was on about, but he supposed Harry would clarify what he meant.  
  
Harry seemed to be waging a contemplative inner battle. Ron was struck at how large Harry's eyes appeared without his glasses on, and that his eyebrows bore a striking resemblance to fuzzy caterpillars when Harry said words Ron never expected to hear.  
  
"I guess I could be dead wrong, but I'd wondered after seeing the way you and Finch-Fletchley were making eyes at each other last spring that maybe you might like blokes too."  
  
"Making eyes at Finch-Fletchley?" Ron said, trying to sound indignant as the implication of Harry's confession slammed through his façade. "You like guys? But what about Cho?" He was flabbergasted.  
  
"I thought I liked her. The person I've realised that I really want to be with, though, is definitely not a girl."  
  
Ron's stomach began to feel like it did after he'd eaten a dozen too many chocolate frogs.  
  
"Oh," he said queasily. Harry had wanted to be alone so he could test the waters with Ron about having the same weird feelings for blokes. Now that that had been established, Harry could tell Ron about some other boy that had captured his interest. Ron was his best friend, after all, and what were friends for if not to listen and be supportive? Ron tried to make light of things.  
  
"Well, as long as he's not a Slytherin. Then we'd really have to have a serious talk."  
  
Harry's lips curved into a smile and Ron felt his heart plummet.  
  
"No, he's about as un-Slytherin as you can get, actually."  
  
Harry moved in closer until his mouth was so close to Ron's that he could smell the licorice-mint of Harry's toothpaste. This was torture.  
  
"I asked you before if you thought I was snogable," Harry breathed up Ron's jaw.  
  
"Of course you are," Ron choked out. "Merlin, Harry, this isn't fair. I don't have a thing for Justin. I'll be your best friend if you fancy blokes, girls, or both. You'll always be Harry to me. But bloody hell, just tell me whoever it is."  
  
"Oh Ron, you always have to do things the hard way," Harry said before pressing his lips to Ron's.  
  
Tentative at first, his mouth moved on Ron's immobile lips until Ron welcomed the kiss and deepened it. This was nothing like kissing girls. Harry's lips were thinner, and the effect unabashed and masculine, like Quidditch changing rooms and jokes about the length of one's wand. Ron was kissing his best friend, and it was the most glorious sensation he'd ever felt. He gripped the back of Harry's head, massaging Harry's scalp through the tangled, fragrant mop of wet hair. His body reminded him to breathe through his nose as he focused on the sensations of running his tongue against Harry's, pressing against his mouth and making sure that he left no tooth untasted. Ron felt Harry's burgeoning erection against his thigh while he caressed Harry's smooth back. Harry, apparently quite unashamed of his nudity, hadn't even put on a towel before his approach.  
  
"You taste perfect," Ron managed before there was a pounding at the door.  
  
"Ron? Harry? Are you okay?"  
  
Neville's earnest voice carried through the closed door.  
  
Ron broke away from Harry in surprise. Harry raised a bemused eyebrow.  
  
"Just fine, Neville," Harry said easily. "Bit of private business- can you give us a few minutes?"  
  
"All right," Neville said, sounding reassured.  
  
Ron collected himself, adjusting his towel and ill-disguised arousal. He couldn't help focusing on Harry's arse as he walked over to a rack to pull off a plush towel. The years of malnutrition showed in Harry's frame, slighter than many of the boys in their year, making the lean muscle in his squarish backside appear positively decadent.  
  
Harry appeared to relish Ron's inability to tear his eyes away from his nude form as he dried off.  
  
"C'mon, you've seen all this before," Harry said, grinning provocatively. "Unlike you, I haven't had a decent workout since our last Quidditch practise. I'm sure I'm out of shape."  
  
A worried voice came from outside the door again.  
  
"Are you sure you're okay in there?"  
  
"Yeah, be right out," Ron replied, pushing down on his semi-erect cock. They obviously needed to leave the bathroom before their roommates thought something weird was going on. Unfortunately for Ron, he was assaulted by an overwhelming urge to hurl himself at Harry and taste every inch of his lightly tanned skin right then and there. For once, however, his common sense won out. He walked over to Harry, who had put his pyjama bottoms back on and was leaning against the wall, feet crossed and thumbs hooked into his waist elastic.  
  
"The hell you are," Ron said, placing his hands on Harry's proffered chest, fanning his fingers through the fine black hairs. He couldn't _not_ touch Harry. "I've dreamt about this, about you, and me. This summer."  
  
Harry tilted his head, his eyelids half-lowered as he arched into Ron's fingertips. "I'd really like to hear about some of those dreams," he murmured. "I've had my fair share, but I wasn't sure that you'd ever see me as anything but a friend."  
  
Ron drew his hands down the flat plane of Harry's stomach before leaning in to lick a path on Harry's exposed neck. "I'm pretty sure we're into beyond friends territory," he said raggedly. Harry's skin was warm, tasting slightly of the cedarwood soap he always used. "Think we could come up with an excuse to go to the Astronomy Tower tonight?"  
  
Harry nodded, looking remorseful as he slid away from Ron's touch, but not without first dragging a finger down Ron's bicep.  
  
"Hermione would probably be very supportive if she believed we were actually getting ahead on our Astronomy work," Harry said knowingly as he unlocked the door.  
  
"She'll know we're up to something."  
  
Ron opened the door as a very relieved Neville went rushing past them, slamming a cubicle door behind him.  
  
"I'm afraid she can be rather na´ve," Harry said, heading to the trunk at the end of his bed and pulling on some clothes.  
  
"Who?" Seamus demanded, sitting on his four-poster and trying to juggle. Mostly, though, he was lobbing balls at Dean, who mumbled obscenities and threw them back.  
  
"Hermione. Not too innocent, I reckon," Ron said in her defense.  
  
"Not from what Dean here's told me," Seamus said with a Cheshire cat grin.  
  
"Piss off!" Dean covered his head with his blanket.  
  
"You dirty scoundrel." Harry was fully dressed, tapping his wand on his palm. "I should've known."  
  
"Thought you did." Seamus' brogue filled the room. "Nice to know how unobservant you are. You'll never know the lucky bird I've snagged. And good thing, that. Don't need your ridicule on top of everything else."  
  
Ron collapsed into a sitting position on his bed. "Where've I been?" he asked. "And since when haven't you two told me what's going on?"  
  
"Ah, you're just as clueless. But you've had other things to think about, haven't you, since Fred and all," Seamus said apologetically. "You need something else to focus on, or someone. I know a few lasses that fancy you. Y'just need to follow my lead."  
  
Ron stole a quick glance at Harry, who rolled his eyes. "Guess I'll have to," he concurred. "I'll never be the ladies' man you are, Seamus."  
  
Dean let out a muffled sigh. "Don't encourage him, Ron," he said from under his covers. "Gives him a big head. Ouch!"  
  
A particularly large transfigured beanbag ball had hit him squarely on the head. "Leave off, Seamus!" he yelled.  
  
"You did say to get you up for breakfast, you big lug," Seamus said, throwing the rest of his ammunition at Dean, who writhed like a giant mandrake under the bedcovers.  
  
"I'm getting up, now piss OFF!" Dean shouted before Seamus leapt onto his bed.  
  
"Breakfast, sunshine, get up for lovely brekkie!" Seamus said in a singsong voice. Ron got dressed, sneaking a quick sniff at his palms, inhaling the faint smell of Harry that lingered there. Every cell in his body thrummed with a sense of rightness. Powerless over his newfound happiness, he whistled as he and Harry made their way down to the Great Hall.  
  
***  
  
Unfortunately, it took over a week for them to succeed at their clandestine rendezvous. Ron had never had so much homework in his life. He'd even tried to sequester himself away with Harry in a library carrel, but this proved futile as Hermione and Dean doggedly remained with them to work on their tricky Transfigurations essays. Ron's attention, scattered even at the best of times, was absolutely shot. All he could think about was Harry. Kissing Harry. Molesting Harry, in the best ways possible. With such an omnipresent lack of privacy, the few times that they were able to kiss and grope were frenzied, leaving them both out of breath and hungrier than ever before for a real opportunity to be together. Finally, one evening, Ron came up with a diversion.  
  
The news in the _Daily Prophet_ about Voldemort's return was going from bad to worse, to the point where quite a few students had been withdrawn from Hogwarts, and not just those in Slytherin. Several in that house were now conspicuously absent, Goyle and Millicent Bulstrode among them. A brother and sister in Ravenclaw had been sent to Durmstrang by worried parents who didn't feel that Dumbledore could keep the school safe. Even Dennis Creevey had been taken out and forced to attend Beauxbatons. Ron had been in the common room the night that a tearful Colin had begged Hermione to take several pictures of the two brothers before they were separated.  
  
"I'll just go get some chocolate from the kitchens," Ron announced to the few sixth- and seventh-years still awake in the common room, sprawled on the couches and floor. "It'll do us all a bit of good."  
  
"Too right," Seamus agreed, his bare feet splayed in front of the fireplace.  
  
"You're not going to force the house elves to make anything, are you?" Hermione asked, eyes flashing.  
  
"Let him go, you know that we could all use a pick-me-up," Dean said consolingly, running his dark fingers through her hair. Once it had become public knowledge that the two were involved, they were far more physical around each other, a change that Hermione appeared to relish.  
  
"But I've made so much progress with S.P.E.W…"  
  
"I'll go with you," Harry offered. "Back in a bit. " Seamus waved idly, his attentions focused on the new issue of _Quidditch Quarterly_ in his lap.  
  
Harry and Ron walked to the portrait-hole.  
  
"Don't let Padma catch you!" Hermione warned. "You've seen how intent she is on Ravenclaw winning the House Cup this year. Nothing would make the Head Girl happier than finding you two out after hours so she can dock points from Gryffindor."  
  
Ron knew that Hermione was very touchy about the unprecedented move to have a sixth year appointed as Head Girl, particularly when it wasn't her. She had to be content with being a Prefect again.  
  
"Yes, mum," Ron answered dutifully. Harry snickered and pocketed the Marauder's Map after checking it for a safe route. Ron felt an odd melancholy wash over him; sneaking through Hogwarts wasn't nearly as difficult anymore since Filch had been killed. Filch'd been taken and tortured, his body left on the school's front steps after the Death Eaters hadn't been able to get any information about Hogwarts' hidden passages from the capture of the twins.  
  
Once outside the common room, Harry gave Ron a provocative look. "We're not actually going to the kitchen, are we?"  
  
"Well, not immediately, I hope. I'd say let's go to the tower first, wouldn't you?"  
  
Harry's eyes lit up. "Definitely, though the Room of Requirement is closer."  
  
Ron nodded and they furtively made their way to the room, Ron feeling the beginnings of the familiar arousal in his groin as he wondered what would await them once they got there. In the precious snatched opportunities alone, they'd discovered intimately new aspects about each other: Harry's ears were an intensely erogenous, but also ticklish, part of his body; Ron adored it when Harry sucked on his neck. Harry had been doing sexual research both book learned and self-exploratory and was game to try just about anything, while Ron was still a bit embarrassed about the whole thing and couldn't bear the thought of getting caught by any of their roommates.  
  
The pair reached the Room of Requirement without incident. Perhaps unsurprisingly, it resembled the Gryffindor common room, but with one major difference: instead of couches, there was a wide chaise lounge and a large four-poster, the rich red curtains held back by gold cord. A fire crackled cheerily, casting a warm glow about the room.  
  
"Looks inviting," Harry said before casting a locking spell on the door and a _silencio_ charm on the walls.  
  
"I reckon you do, too," Ron said a bit hoarsely, claiming Harry's mouth with a kiss. Ron's hands were everywhere as he and Harry fumbled their way to the bed, Ron muttering about bloody robes as he struggled with the fasteners. Soon they were both only wearing boxers, Ron lying on his back and Harry straddling him, tugging on the nubs on Ron's chest and grinding his erection against Ron's groin.  
  
Ron felt as though he were on fire; he was flushed and ached and wanted desperately to know how Harry's face would look when Ron brought him to orgasm because he was determined not to leave the room until he did so. He pulled Harry down and rolled them over before tugging Harry's boxers off, knee-walking back and taking his best friend's cock in his mouth for the first time.  
  
"Merlin, you feel brilliant," Harry gasped as Ron licked and sucked up and down, hoping he was doing things right and marveling at the tangy taste in his mouth and the heady scent of musk. He tried to take in Harry's full length, letting his fingers trail down and fondle the slightly furry sacs below. Ron listened to Harry's moans, gauging what felt good or unbelievable by the needy noises above him.  
  
"Ron, so close, so close," Harry murmured, trying to pull Ron up but this was precisely what Ron wanted. Head still bobbing, Ron looked up at Harry's face as his vivid green eyes closed and his mouth opened wide as his hips bucked forcefully into Ron's mouth. "Ron, Ron, ahhhhh," Harry cried, tossing his head from side to side and grasping at Ron's hair. Seconds later, Ron's mouth was full of bittersweet liquid. He swallowed a couple of times, though some of the creamy fluid dribbled down the base of Harry's cock.  
  
_Not a bad taste,_ Ron thought, lapping at the now-softening cock. _I could get used to doing this. A lot._ As he looked at the sated expression on Harry's face, Ron realised that he was more proud of what he'd just done with his friend than being a Prefect, or winning Quidditch matches.  
  
"You're amazing," Harry said, his voice rough with emotion. "You've got to let me do something for you."  
  
"Suits me," Ron agreed, though he didn't think he'd last long at all, he was so aroused. He sat back and pulled off his boxers, conscious more than ever of his freckles, hoping that his smells and tastes would be as pleasant to Harry as Harry's were to him. He needn't have worried.  
  
Somehow, Harry intuited that there would be a small vial of oil in the table by the bed. "Trust me," Harry said in Ron's ear before stroking Ron's jutting cock with one talented hand, the other pressing one well-lubricated finger inside his opening. Harry gently explored until he found some incredible spot that sent jolts of pleasure searing through Ron. The sensation of Harry's hand on him and the unexpected but welcome intrusion in his arse was enough to bring Ron to a tremendous orgasm after only a few minutes, shuddering and biting down on his lower lip to keep from crying out. He lay there, panting as aftershocks of pleasure ebbed through him, the reality of what they'd done manifesting itself in cooling, sticky stripes across his stomach. Harry gently released Ron and sat back on his heels, looking pleased.  
  
"Next time you should be as loud as you want," Harry admonished, getting his wand and casting a quick cleaning spell on them. "I'm confident in my silencing spells." He lay down next to Ron, who felt utterly boneless and even a bit awkward in the aftermath of their recent intimacy.  
  
"No offense, Harry, but between living with the twins and having almost no privacy in our dorm, I'm just used to being quiet."  
  
"Well, I'll have to trust that you'll let yourself make more noise in the future. Especially with some of the things I have planned for you."  
  
Ron's mind raced as he considered the implications of what Harry had said. "You're going to need to start sharing some of those mags I know you've got hidden in your trunk. What you just did was incredible, but it's not fair for you to know all of these secrets of how to get a bloke off and not tell me, too. I mean, I'm not an idiot or anything, and Merlin knows I've dreamt about it, but that's different."  
  
Harry traced his finger down Ron's chest, looking intently at him. "I'm more than happy to share and, since the start of term, I've been hoping that we'd be able to learn by experience. It's you that I trust, you that I've wanted to get to know in every way possible since I came to my senses this summer. Every inch of skin, down to the last freckle."  
  
Despite what his best friend was saying, and despite what they had just done, Ron still found it hard to believe. Of course he wanted desperately to revel in Harry's declaration, and the idea of getting together as often as they could appealed to his libido. It was just that, after the attack on Fred and George, nothing seemed permanent; givens had become phantasms. This was Harry, though, in whom Ron had always found solidity and surety.  
  
"Sounds bloody brilliant. Guess we'll have to investigate some of the lesser-used rooms, though; we can't use the excuse of going to the kitchens too many times before Hermione will start following us."  
  
Harry chuckled, reaching for their clothes. "True enough. During my time here this summer I've come across a few that I think will suit. In the meantime, though, we'd better really get that chocolate before they send out a search party."  
  
They dressed in companionable silence, hastened to the kitchens and grabbed a platter of brownies from the house-elves. They managed to return to their dorm without being caught.  
  
That night, Ron found it hard to go to sleep; thoughts spun in his mind about how different this year was from the past. His life had become topsy-turvy over the past couple of months, more tragic and yet stunningly wonderful, dreadfully simple and infinitely more complicated. Normally he'd have a quick wank to relax, but it seemed like cheating after the earlier evening's activities with Harry. Ron listened to his roommate's snores and decided to see if Harry was still awake; maybe he'd get out one of the porn magazines that he'd glimpsed at the very start of term and Ron could look at it. Obviously he had heaps to catch up on.  
  
He padded quietly to Harry's bed and pulled back the curtain. "Harry?" he said under his breath. "You awake?"  
  
"Barely," came the tired reply. "What's up?"  
  
"Can't sleep. Got bollocky busy brain. D'you mind letting me borrow one of those, um-"  
  
"Poofter mags?" Harry asked, humour in his voice.  
  
"Uh. Yeah."  
  
"Sure, Ron. You don't have to be embarrassed." Harry kept his voice low so as not to wake their roommates, even though both Dean and Seamus tended to cast silencing charms on their bed curtains and Neville was a very sound sleeper.  
  
Harry rummaged beside his bed, took out a library book titled _Tantalysing Toadstools: 101 Most Common Uses in Curse-Lifting_ and flipped two-thirds of the way through it, until he came to a folded multi-coloured square of paper. Taking his wand, Harry muttered a short spell and the pages expanded to full size. "Here you go- enjoy. I do," he said, smiling. "Though the real thing's far better."  
  
"Thanks." Ron rolled it up, very conscious of the slight tenderness in his arse. "Sorry to bother you."  
  
"You're not a bother. No worries."  
  
Ron returned to his bed, pulled the curtains, and incanted _lumos_ so that he had a minimum of light by which to read, or merely ogle, stunned. It was one thing to think about the myriad ways two men could be together; it was quite another to see moving pictures of them doing so. He could barely believe his eyes, but all of the men, regardless of the positions and various activities that they were involved in seemed to be really enjoying themselves. After a while he was overwhelmed, and decided simply to try and go to sleep. He lay there, thinking of a few of the more provocative scenarios, and drifted off, imagining how it would feel to do some of those things with Harry.  
  
***  
  
Over the next several weeks Ron and Harry became ever more intimate and adventurous in their few physical encounters. Those were fleeting bright sparks in the ever-dimming world outside of Hogwarts where the Ministry was training Aurors at a desperate pace. Voldemort and his followers had been working far more secretively than the members of the Order had realised, even after the Death Eaters' unexpected attack on Weasley's Wizarding Wheezes that summer. They appeared to be focusing on instilling as much terror in the ordinary Wizarding community as possible, while revealing their proximity to Hogwarts. The few unfortunate souls who were having a late-night pint at the Three Broomsticks with the proprietress had suffered an attack in late September by a band of vampires in league with the Dark Lord. Their drained, gaunt bodies had been posted on garish display outside the pub.  
  
Dumbledore began calling Harry from his classes with some frequency. Each time Ron looked perplexingly at him, but Harry merely picked up his satchel of texts and followed the Headmaster. In early October, a spare wing in the castle had to be used as an emergency hospital after a particularly vicious Death Eater spree in Honeydukes. The school became far more like a military academy than an academic institution.  
  
There were also transitions that took some getting used to.  
  
"What do you mean you're a bloody pacifist? There's about to be a war on!" Ron roared at Dean, who glared back.  
  
"Just what I said. I'm resigning from Dumbledore's Army and taking some intensive healing work with Pomfrey. I wasn't that comfortable with it last year, not with my family's background as Friends, and-"  
  
"What about Harry?" Ron interrupted, furious.  
  
"Look, mate, given the way things are going, our side's going to need as many Healers as anything else. Harry's got Dumbledore, and you, and Hermione."  
  
Ron scowled despite the logic in what Dean was saying. The thought of fewer combatants made him twitchy and anxious but, of course, there would be wounded. Dean was generous of heart and he'd be a boon to Pomfrey and any staff from St. Mungo's, wherever the battles took place. Though it remained unspoken, the certainty of a skirmish occurring on Hogwarts grounds as long as Harry was still there pervaded the very stone.  
  
"He's made his choice. Respect it," Seamus said defensively from his bed.  
  
"Fine," Ron said, his temper still simmering.  
  
Memories of following Bill, Mad-Eye and his father into the dank cell where they'd found the twins flashed menacingly behind Ron's eyes. Fred had been dead in George's arms. Grabbing his Cleansweep 11, he stormed out of their room and made his way to the Quidditch pitch. Given the situation, the season had been cancelled, so the stands were vacant. Ron flew fast and tight, venting his angry frustration on air and broom. After several laps, something on the ground caught his eye and he stopped abruptly. The figure was unmistakable. Ron jerked on his broom and soared down to Harry.  
  
"Thought I might find you out here," Harry said, absently rubbing the crown of his head through his unkempt hair.  
  
"Yeah."  
  
Harry seemed to be weighing his words. "Not everyone's meant to fight in this, y'know. There's got to be spies, and strategists."  
  
"And Healers. I know. I just know I've got to be out there, however and whenever." Ron grasped his broom handle until his knuckles were white. "I'll be fighting next to George when it happens, I can tell you that," he said without thinking. What he'd implied struck him like a slap to the face and he looked at Harry, panic-stricken. "No! I don't mean that- I'll be by you."  
  
"You're always by me, Ron," Harry said deliberately. "But I'm pretty sure it's going to be soon."  
  
Ron nodded, an onslaught of fear roiling in his stomach before something else far more secure settled in his chest. It was solidarity, admiration and indefatigable loyalty. _Fraternity._  
  
"Harry."  
  
Harry raised an eyebrow.  
  
"There's something we haven't done, y'know, together."  
  
In a gesture that somehow managed to sum up all they had been through, Harry tenderly ran his thumb over Ron's bottom lip before leaning in until his mouth barely brushed Ron's.  
  
"You have no idea how much I want that. Tonight."  
  
The blood began to rush to Ron's cock as they kissed feverishly. Ron managed a gasped, "Right," at one point when he drew back for air. Something profound was being expressed in their possession of each other but, in the moment, all Ron could focus on was Harry's tongue in his needy mouth. The world had become a desert and Harry's touch an oasis. Ron felt Harry rock into him, his welcome bulge pressing against Ron's thigh.  
  
"I've got to get back," Harry said, pulling away a few minutes later and looking searchingly at Ron. "See you at dinner?"  
  
"'Course."  
  
A chill wind blew Ron's robes as he watched his best friend walk back to the castle.  
  
***  
  
A few hours later, Harry and Ron sat naked on a transfigured bed, candles flickering nearby. In a fit of decadence, Harry had made it with gold silk sheets, not that Ron was complaining.  
  
"What's this for?" Ron asked, unable to tear his eyes away from his wrist where Harry had encircled a sturdy chain of silver links.  
  
"Just a small present. Something to remind you of tonight, and of me," Harry said, extending his hand and running his Quidditch-calloused index finger along it.  
  
"You're not going anywhere, are you?" Ron asked, snapping his gaze up to look at Harry's face. "I mean, not without me."  
  
"Not if I can help it. Now quit talking and get me ready for you."  
  
They'd decided that Ron would be in Harry and, while Ron was all ready to have sex, the somber implications of Harry's unexpected gift had unnerved him.  
  
"Okay, but can I take my time, y'know, preparing? I want this to be good for both of us."  
  
"Of course. No hurry." Harry stretched out on his back and Ron marveled at how different they were in size, and also how much he loved kissing his way down Harry's thin trail of black hair to the collection of dense curls between his legs. The musky scent there was intoxicating. He took Harry's cock in his mouth and ministered to him in ways he'd knew would make Harry writhe beneath him.  
  
"Ron. Ron," Harry pleaded, pulling Ron's hair. "Want you inside me."  
  
Ron's hard cock twitched at the thought, even though the reality of it all was daunting. He wanted to do this- Merlin, he thought he'd explode if he didn't- but this would be their only first time, and Ron didn't want to muck it up. He got on his knees, opening Harry up with his oiled fingers, wondering how on earth he would fit.  
  
"Merlin, Ron, I'm ready." Harry panted, a pillow under his arse and knees pulled up to his chest.  
  
"You'll tell me if I hurt you-"  
  
"Promise."  
  
Ron positioned himself and slowly pushed against what looked like a ridiculously small entrance. They both groaned as he entered. It should have been impossible but, inch by carefully lubricated inch, Ron pushed into Harry's body. Harry winced and bit down on his lip, and Ron stopped.  
  
"Sorry," he apologised, beginning to pull back.  
  
"No," Harry hissed. "Let me relax for a sec. It just… burns a bit. So full, but I'm getting used to it."  
  
Ron braced himself on Harry's legs, thinking he'd never felt anything so incredible in his life, the heat and tightness, and - oh god - he was joined to his mate.  
  
"Go all the way in. I need you."  
  
Ron complied, staring down at his cock as he agonisingly drew back some, then slid in further. It was bliss; it defied all common sense; he couldn't get far enough…  
  
"Merlin, Ron," Harry breathed, the look of pain metamorphosing to hungry desire. "Feels unreal."  
  
"You feel fucking incredible," Ron said in a low moan, attempting to set a rhythm of long thrusts that halted when Harry bucked his hips and let out a sudden cry. "What? Did I-"  
  
"Do that again," Harry begged. "That spot, you know- you rubbed it with your cock, oh Merlin, Merlin, fuck."  
  
Words left them both as Ron began to hit that incredible spot in Harry with each stroke. Nothing could have prepared Ron for feeling as though he were sheathed in velvet, watching Harry take his own jerking cock in his hand, fisting it in parallel as Ron plunged deep into him.  
  
All too soon, telltale tension gathered deep in Ron's groin. His passion was barely constrained and Ron teetered on the edge, not wanting it to end so quickly. Harry's face was flushed and focused, eyelids squeezed tightly as he shoved against Ron. Looking almost startled, Harry's eyes flew open. He arched up off the bed and came with a series of satisfied, incomprehensible sounds before dropping back, rapture on his sweat-sheened face.  
  
Seeing Harry's pleasure and feeling the spasmodic clenches around his cock was Ron's undoing. His release poured out of him, wave after throbbing wave until he was left shaking, his chest heaving and a sense of bittersweet loss settling in his aching arms, still clasping the front of Harry's calves. He'd wanted to have more control over his body, somehow, not be lost utterly to abandon. He felt that he should be allowed to cause that look of fervent gratitude on Harry's face for ages, not just for a few paltry minutes. Fuck the war. Ron wanted to be tenderly, ferociously, possessively fucking Harry.  
  
Some of the baffling emotions must have been reflected in his expression, because Harry got up on his elbows.  
  
"Ron, are you okay?" he asked.  
  
Ron's sated mind searched for words as he tried unsuccessfully to keep his quiescent cock from slipping out of Harry's warmth. "I, well," he struggled, "wanted things to last longer. You felt so right. Like I'm supposed to do this with you, heaps of times."  
  
A warm smile lit Harry's already glowing face. "I'm counting on that. Besides, I want to know how it feels to fuck you."  
  
Hearing Harry use the crass term out loud made Ron's longing for their next encounter even stronger. "Wanna fuck me, eh?" Ron joked, retrieving his wand to cast an oft-practised cleaning spell on them both. "Want to pound into my arse, do you?"  
  
"Reckon it's only fair. You deflowered me- shouldn't I get the same privilege?" Harry retorted, putting on his robes. "I'm going to have to be careful sitting down tomorrow, you know, unless I use a healing spell. But I'd rather be sore and think about you."  
  
Once dressed, they stood facing each other in comfortable silence. Ron put his hands on Harry's shoulders, looking down into his face, at the damn scar that had always unfairly marked Harry. Ron was struck with the knowledge that he would protect Harry at all costs; it seemed what he was born to do, the warp to Harry's weft in their lives since they'd begun Hogwarts.  
  
His joviality gone, Ron again wished he were more articulate. "I don't know how to say this, Harry, but…" his voice trailed off and he rested his forehead on Harry's. "Merlin, we've been through a hell of a lot."  
  
Harry sighed softly in understanding and put his hands on top of Ron's, his thumb stroking the bracelet.  
  
"I love you, too."  
  
***  
  
The attack came three mornings later. McGonagall roughly shook Ron awake and he struggled to get his bearings. He'd been having quite a nice dream involving Harry, chocolate frogs and a Gryffindor tie when she woke him up.  
  
"Weasley! We're evacuating the towers and going to the dungeons. Get dressed, take your wand and, for Merlin's sake, move quickly!"  
  
"What's happened?" he asked, flinging himself out of the four-poster and glancing around wildly for his robes and shoes.  
  
"Death Eaters. Wake up the rest- tell Finnigan and Longbottom to work with the seventh years and escort the younger students down to the lowest level of the castle. Thomas needs to go to the Infirmary."  
  
Ron was nearly dressed as McGonagall rushed toward the door. "What about Harry?"  
  
She turned and paused, tight-lipped, the resignation in her expression visible despite the distance.  
  
"He's where he needs to be. Now hurry!"  
  
She was gone.  
  
"Where the bloody hell is Harry?" Ron bellowed after her in anguish.  
  
"What the fuck you yelling for?" Seamus shouted back angrily as he leaned out of bed, his sandy hair the very definition of bedhead.  
  
Ron stood, panting, while time slowed . Blood roared in his ears, deafening him to everything except the nightmare unfolding around him. Deep in his clenched gut, he knew the Order had taken Harry. Dumbledore and the rest would use him and pit him against Voldemort whether he was prepared or not. A lightning flash memory of Harry's composure from the summer sparked through him, loosening the constricting sensations in his chest.  
  
"I said, what're you on about?" Seamus was in Ron's face now, fists clenched and enraged enough to deck smack Ron in the head.  
  
"Death Eaters," Ron started, and McGonagall's words came flooding back. He plunged on. "There's been an attack on the school. I'll get Neville, you wake up Dean. McGonagall said he's got to get to Pomfrey as fast as he can. You and Neville and I have to evacuate the tower with the seventh years and get everyone else down to the dungeons as quickly as possible. Understand?"  
  
Seamus' jaw dropped, all anger erased from his face. "Fuck," he whispered.  
  
"Yeah. Robes, wand. That's it. Get Dean!"  
  
Seamus ran to Dean while Ron roused a sluggish Neville, who sprang into action once he heard the news. They were human, though, and fled to the toilets while Ron retrieved one of George's emergency Mystical Incinerating Messages. Grabbing at a quill, he scrawled:

_D.E. attack. OotP has Harry. Going to_ _Forest_ _. Get me. Fighting with you.  
-R_

  
  
" _Incendio!_ " He flicked his wand and the page burst into flame and vanished. It was one of the twins' inventions, based on the principals of Apparation, but different enough (Ron desperately hoped) to escape Hogwarts' walls. George had given both Ron and Ginny several apiece, the parchments' coordinates set to appear next to the till in the jokeshop, since George spent almost all of his time there. He even slept in the small lab in the back most nights.  
  
"If something happens, use one of these," George had said, sneaking the pages into their robes at the Platform before they'd boarded the train. "I'll hear it if I'm not standing right there. It's the closest thing to instant communication I've got."  
  
As the four raced down their dormitory staircase, Ron prayed with all his might that George had received his message, and that Harry was okay.  
  
Within minutes, all Gryffindors were streaming through the common room and down the tricksy staircases. Two seventh years and Neville led the group, with Neville carrying a particularly hysterical second year exchange witch from Italy. They had made it down several flights of stairs when light from a torch shone on Ron's wrist, reflecting off of his bracelet. He paused, a boulder in a rushing river of black robes, until Ginny tugged on his arm.  
  
"Dammit Ron, run!" she implored. "What are you doing?"  
  
"They took him, Ginny. If I can't fight by Harry, there's somebody else I can be beside."  
  
"No, Ron, no. You can't!"  
  
"I'll see you when this is over," Ron promised. "George needs me too."  
  
He kissed her on the head before turning and sprinting down a side corridor. The back of his mind registered sinister iridescent flickers down one corridor he bolted past, the sickly green afterglow of death curses. He made it to the fifth floor to the statue of Gregory the Smarmy and pushed the second waistcoat button, jumping into the dark corridor that opened up and kept running. Ron crashed through the Quidditch changing room and to the locker that led to another secret passageway out to the school grounds. He didn't pause to see if he was being pursued, only kept pounding the ground as he ran, lungs burning as he rushed toward the Forbidden Forest. He was nearly there when the red light of a curse shot past his left shoulder, narrowly missing him. He stumbled, nearly tripping over his own feet. An arm reached out and grabbed him around the waist. Instinctively, Ron swung his elbow forward so he could ram his captor in the ribs before he heard, "Ron! It's me! I've got you."  
  
He was Apparated as he saw the wand of a Death Eater pointed straight at his heart.  
  
***  
  
"That was close." Ron was pacing The Cleansweep, watching George pack a few things before they left to go to his base camp. Unsurprisingly, as soon as he could after the attack on Wheezes, George had enlisted in a somewhat peripheral, but diehard, group of wizards and witches, who risked their lives to get information and hand it to Aurors and Ministry officials. "Glad the message worked."  
  
George gave a wan smile. "Got one from Ginny, too, but she wasn't so barmy as to try and run to the Forest. Glad you did, though," he admitted. "I never really thought I'd go through this in my lifetime, and certainly not without Fred, but it's better with you around."  
  
Ron nodded, his legs sore from running and his body still simmering uncomfortably with adrenaline from his near capture.  
  
"If you survive this, Mum'll kill you, you know that." George pulled the cording of his pack tight.  
  
"That's some incentive for self-preservation you've got there," Ron said sarcastically.  
  
"Lighten up. With that bloody clock of hers, I'm quite sure she knows you're here," George said, shrinking the pack with a spell and looking expectantly at Ron. "You ready to go?"  
  
Ron shrugged. "I guess."  
  
George rolled his eyes. "Get a quick snack- I've got one last thing to do."  
  
Ron didn't mean to spy, but after slapping together a makeshift sandwich out of the meager contents in George's refrigerator, he paused near the doorway to what had been George and Fred's room. They'd been making enough money to rent a flat with more bedrooms but, when Ron had asked why they didn't finally get separate rooms, the twins had looked at each other before facing Ron. "We like the company," they'd said in tandem.  
  
George was speaking in low tones and Ron shifted slightly so he could see what was going on. Maybe George really had cracked if he was talking to himself. The reality hit him as soon as he saw George standing in front of his bureau, murmuring at a large portrait on the wall. Of course. He was saying good-bye to Fred, captured with George in a wizarding painting made shortly after the twins' spectacular exit from Hogwarts in the spring. That seemed like an eternity ago.  
  
"I know you're lurking," Ron heard George say in a loud voice. In shock, Ron choked on the bread and cheese in his mouth. "It's all right. Fred says to get out there and kick some Death Eater arse."  
  
Ron swallowed hard and made his way back to the small kitchen, looking for some water. Seconds later, George reappeared.  
  
"We'll have to Apparate together again," he said, attempting a lascivious waggling of his ginger eyebrows.  
  
Ron simply walked over to his brother and stood waiting in front of him.  
  
George gave him a searching look. "The Order took Harry, you say?" Resuscitated anger whistled through Ron and settled in his hands, which clenched at his sides, the nails digging into his palms as he nodded. "Bastards." George put his arms around Ron, who closed his eyes. "He'll be okay," George said adamantly. "Just don't you go trying to be a hero or anything bollocky stupid," George warned. "Or Mum'll kill me too."  
  
"George. Harry and I…" Ron's hollow voice trailed off, uncertain how to continue. "We're-"  
  
"I know."  
  
"How?"  
  
"Credit, Ronniekins, some credit please." George stood back, grasping Ron below the elbows. "Fred and I were not only masters of deception, but also perception. Besides-"  
  
The most serious look Ron had ever seen on George's face since the funeral settled resolutely in his older brother's features.  
  
"It may run in the family."  
  
Ron was astonished to reply.  
  
***  
  
Four days into the war, the incomprehensible happened. Ron was out with George doing reconnaissance, taking notes while George used a pair of modified Omnioculars to scan the southeastern grounds of Malfoy Manor. Without warning or reason, Ron's chain bracelet seared him like frigid flame, one of the links cracked, and it fell to the ground. Feeling suddenly naked, Ron grabbed at his wrist bones, before wretched despair bowled him over. Dry heaves assaulted him while he raked his fingers on the earth until they touched the lifeless metal.  
  
"What's going on?"  
  
To Ron, George and his anxious question were more distant than the farthest constellation.  
  
Harry was dead.  
  
He knew it as surely as he continued to breathe. But it was impossible, for if it were true, the world would have stopped turning. Harry being killed was as illogical and indecent as Ron surviving in his stead. Ron was supposed to have been there, protecting his best friend and mate. The agony of loss flooded him like poison, extinguishing all feelings except bilious rage.  
  
"Harry's dead!" he yelled at George, clinging to the broken silver in his hand, furious tears stinging his eyes. "It's over! Those Death Eater bastards are really going to pay, beginning now!"  
  
Unsteady with shock and disbelief, Ron stumbled to his feet and shoved the bracelet in his pocket.  
  
"Ron!" George cried out, grabbing in vain at Ron's robes as he began to bolt down a piste toward the Manor. "You don't know that for sure! Don't be a fucking martyr!"  
  
Ron only heard the whistling of wind in his ears and some vague obscenity-ridden admonitions behind him. A powerful hex slammed him in the back and he crashed to the ground. Before darkness claimed him, Ron's last thought was that he'd been betrayed by his own brother.  
  
***  
  
When he came to, Ron felt sluggish and his mind was foggy. A dull ache thrummed in his very blood vessels, though he wasn't actually in pain. The voices nearby were familiar, but his brain felt filled with dense, heavy clouds. With great effort, he opened his eyes and tried to focus.  
  
"Oh, Ron, you're back!"  
  
His mother smothered him in an ecstatic embrace. Even as he basked in her affections, a torrent of memories rushed in, and he squirmed in her arms.  
  
"George! Hexed me!" he gasped before the other recent event seeped into his awareness. "Harry," he said brokenly, the word a lament. Ron looked up into his mother's glistening eyes.  
  
"He's here," she whispered.  
  
"Can't be, don't get my hopes up like that." The phrase tumbled out, and Ron wondered what kind of hideous inside-out world he now lived in when one of the twins would attack him and his mother was heinously cruel. "The chain he gave me- it broke."  
  
"Ron, it's true. I'm here."  
  
Ron blinked as he heard the tranquil voice, thinking perhaps the pieces were falling into place. "Are we all dead, then?" He turned to take in his surroundings. "Guess I didn't think the afterlife would look like a hospital."  
  
The weight on his bed shifted as his mother got up and quietly left the room, wiping a stray tear from her cheek. Ron watched with a growing tightness in his chest as Harry approached and, carefully, languorously, took Ron's hand and pushed back his white robes. The silver links were there, whole, and more lustrous than before.  
  
"I did have to die in a sense, Ron, but only long enough to kill Voldemort as well. You're not dead. You really are in St. Mungo's."  
  
Ron grabbed Harry's hand, desperate to believe. "But-"  
  
"There's so much to tell you," Harry interrupted, his smile infectious. "I'll go to the waiting room while the Healer gives you a last look-over, and you can have a little chat with George here." He started to extricate his hand but he must have read Ron's expression of dread. Instead, he lowered himself and sat next to Ron, cradling his hand in his lap.  
  
"Sorry 'bout that, little bro," George said apologetically, and Ron was astonished to hear the honesty in his voice. "You were trying to take off on your own suicide mission. Couldn't let you do it."  
  
"What on Merlin's beard did you hit me with?" In many ways, Ron could have cared less. Harry was alive. His passionate, astonishing, miraculous companion was _right there,_ thigh pressed next to Ron's. Regretfully, he forced his attentions away from Harry's eyes and focused on his brother.  
  
George rubbed at the week-old, fiery stubble growing on his chin. "Must admit I cast a _comatormentus_. I couldn't have you getting any closer to the wards on the Manor, and you were running pretty damn fast."  
  
Ron started to sit up, incredulous. "You threw _that_ curse on me?" He mulled that over for a few moments. "You must've been bloody desperate, or I'd really pissed you off."  
  
"I had to do something, and I figured if it was just a binding spell you'd keep on raving."  
  
Ron admitted to himself that George was probably right about that one. "Why don't I feel worse, then?"  
  
"Healers have been at you already. We got you here pretty quickly after the news spread about You-Know-Who's defeat. They managed to stop the pain aspect, but my magic was especially potent or something because you've been out for days."  
  
Turning to look at Harry, who was still caressing the palm of his hand, Ron asked, "How many days?"  
  
"Eight."  
  
"Eight?" Ron repeated, rattled.  
  
"Could've been worse!" George said gleefully. "Might've been a month or more, but I'm not that good. C'mon Harry, let Ron get his inspection and then you and I can escort this lunatic to the Burrow."  
  
Harry leaned over and placed a soft kiss on Ron's forehead. Ron watched him, unable to shut his eyes. Flecks of this new, shimmering sense of rightness drifted and settled peacefully in his spirit, warming him as George and Harry walked to the door. Reality then clobbered Ron's placid thoughts.  
  
"Mum! Must know about me… and Harry," he began, wide-eyed.  
  
George gave him a knowing look. "I told her, but she's agreed to keep it to herself if you're uncomfortable with blokes finding out you're a shirtlifter like me and the Wizarding World Saviour, here."  
  
Harry beamed before smacking George on the backside.  
  
"Oy! That's personal property!" George exclaimed. "You're stuck with that piece of Weasley arse over there." He winked at Ron. "See you in a few. I'll alert the Healer that you're up and ready to get the hell home."  
  
He went through the doorway as Harry lagged behind, allowing the door to close at his back.  
  
"I really thought you'd died," Ron said, hoping to Merlin that Harry wouldn't suddenly vanish, and have this all turn into a drug- or curse-induced dream. "I couldn't bear it; it made me crazy, like everything good had been snatched away forever."  
  
He lay on the bed, watching Harry as he responded.  
  
"You don't have to worry about me ever leaving you again, Ron. That bracelet is my pledge to you, but only you can decide how long you care to wear it." Harry paused and pushed up his glasses.  
  
The door swung back behind Harry, who nearly fell into the tall, middle-aged wizard who stood there. Harry quickly mussed his unruly black hair to cover his scar and scooted out of the way. The towering Healer gave him a disapproving look.  
  
"Ronald Weasley?"  
  
Ron nodded, noting the man's nametag as Harry exited the room. While Healer Bonesmend performed an auralic, Ron thought about what Harry had said before he left. He glanced at the intertwining silver bands, protection and devotion forged exclusively for him. He sifted through memories of arguments, misunderstandings, and occasional lapses into envy so powerful he had tasted it in his mouth. Could he honestly and unselfishly commit to Harry? Ron was painfully aware that he possessed quite a temper, was prone to jealousy, and could be petty as hell.  
  
After Fred's untimely death, he didn't really believe in destiny; there'd been far too much chaos in his and Harry's lives up to this point for Ron to think that he'd always been supposed to fall for Harry like this. He'd assumed from that first day on the train that they'd be friends forever, but these new, more deeply personal and permanent feelings had taken him unawares.  
  
"Turn over," the Healer commanded, and Ron complied.  
  
They simply were permanent, Ron concluded. But Ron didn't feel claustrophobic about it; in a way, it was a relief to know that even when they would fight in the future, or when they would doubtless just piss each other off, things would still be okay. There was actually _more_ room to breathe in that kind of freedom, if he thought about it, and he really did love—  
  
Well, he really did. Harry might be comfortable saying that particular word, but it sounded a bit girly in Ron's mouth. Harry knew Ron wasn't the best with words, and accepted him anyway.  
  
"Mr. Weasley." The wand tapped on the side of Ron's head. "You're dismissed. Please take your release parchment from the medi-receptionist before you leave."  
  
As he dressed, the response to Harry's implied question as to when Ron might want to break their bond rang in his heart.

_Never._

  
  
***  
  
It was later, much later, after eating mountains of food and surviving the hug- and back-slapping-intense reunion with his family, and after Ron told the players in his Chudley Cannons poster to quit gawking and practise, that he lay naked in the comfortable vee of Harry's legs. Harry ran his hands up and down Ron's chest, telling him what had happened facing Voldemort and revealing what he had been learning over the summer.  
  
They were silent for a while until Harry's ministrations became more intent, tugging on Ron's nipples until they peaked into hard nubs and Ron began moaning with need. He craned his head back and was rewarded when Harry leaned down to swipe his tongue across Ron's lower lip and into his open mouth. Ron was ravenous for Harry's touch. Though it had been only fifteen days since they'd first had sex, given the traumatic events in the intervening time, it felt like decades. He turned around and sat on his heels, straddling Harry so their hardening erections touched. Cradling Harry's head in his hands, Ron kissed Harry fiercely, Harry responding in kind until his glasses bumped Ron's face one too many times.  
  
Ron drew back, breathing heavily while he removed Harry's specs and placed them haphazardly on his chest of drawers. He took both of their cocks in his hand, stroking urgently until Harry let out a desperate, agitated groan. The sound of his best friend's baritone reduced to primal sounds of _need/want/yes/now_ almost made Ron come right away. He forced himself to slow down.  
  
"Harry," he said, his voice husky with arousal and a tiny sliver of fear. It was merely one word, two short syllables. But like a chambered nautilus, hiding many divisions within its whole, to Ron it contained a small universe of meanings. It was question, and an answer; plea and reassurance.  
  
Harry slowly nodded, his lips swollen from their feverish kisses.  
  
Despite the fact that his body was screaming for release, Ron took his time exploring and re-familiarising himself with Harry's skin, scars and scents. He paused to breathe deeply of the pungent, musky smell that wafted when he ran his fingers through the tangle of Harry's coarse hair, noticing with satisfaction the frisson of need reflected in a hitch of Harry's breath. They hadn't actually spoken their needs or expectations to each other, but as desire pulsed through him, Ron knew Harry was of the same mind.  
  
After much well-oiled preparation and gentle stretching, Harry began to make love to Ron. And, Merlin, it hurt. It burned and, while he tried to stifle a grunt of pain into the pillow, Ron must've tensed up because Harry started murmuring soothing words, pausing for Ron's body to relax until Harry could press forward with more of his length. Finally, Ron had the surreal sensation of Harry's sacs resting against his arse. The rational part of his mind was reeling at the mechanics of it all when Harry leaned over.  
  
"You all right?" he asked, his breathing ragged.  
  
All Ron could do was nod, his face still mashed into the pillow, on his knees and arse up in the air. Truth was, he felt terribly vulnerable and not a little self-conscious.  
  
Harry pulled out a bit, then pushed back in, taking Ron's flagging erection in his hand, giving Ron a far more pleasurable sensation to focus on than the discomfort that threatened to overwhelm him. Harry angled his cock and brushed that brilliant spot that made Ron's mind shut up and his body surrender. Soon, Harry was thrusting in earnest and Ron didn't think Harry could ever be deep enough. He got up on his hands so he could push back against Harry, knowing he would be sore as hell and probably wouldn't be able to sit for days, but it was more than worth it. Ron's orgasm took him by surprise, his release unleashed without the usual warning from his hyperstimulated body.  
  
"Ron, Ron, Ron," Harry panted behind him until he made a raw cry of relief, grasping Ron's slippery cock almost to the point of pain.  
  
Ron hung his head, dizzy from the intensity of their coupling. He felt so full, and complete. He bit the inside of his cheek as Harry slowly eased out of him, stifling a vocal response to the loss. His arse ached for certain, but for a few moments Ron could still feel the ghostly presence of Harry inside him, making him ache in an entirely different way. He felt like he'd been hit with a jelly-leg jinx so he slid down on the bed, stretching out on his side. Harry lay down beside him, face flushed and the front of his wild hair plastered to his face with sweat.  
  
"You're amazing," Harry said reverently, running a hand through Ron's damp hair. "I had no idea anything could feel like that, so tight and hot. And the fact that it was you made things perfect."  
  
Ron smiled. " I reckon you're right. I might need some healing salve, though," he said, wincing as he experimentally clenched his arse.  
  
"Why don't you lie on your stomach and I'll rub your back for a little while," Harry suggested and Ron gratefully agreed.  
  
"I could stand to get cleaned up a bit first," Ron said somewhat embarrassed as he felt some liquid seep from his backside and looked at the creamy rivulets sliding down his stomach on to the bedcovers. "D'you mind handing me that t-shirt?"  
  
They both wiped up, and Ron was glad that the smell of their recent sex still hung in the air, a heady reminder of how it had felt to have Harry claim him and fuck him for the first time. He rolled over, allowing himself to feel like a puddle of goo as Harry massaged his upper back and shoulders, before rubbing the small of his back, even kneading his buttocks.  
  
The door flew open.  
  
"Nice arse, Harry!" George said appreciatively, with a big wink, as he appeared in the doorway.  
  
"Fuck, George, haven't you bloody heard of knocking, you big git?" Ron shouted, his face turning a rosy shade under his freckles.  
  
"Thanks!" Harry grinned over his shoulder, wriggling his butt.  
  
"Bollocks, what do you want?" Ron seethed.  
  
"It's all right," George said, nonplussed. "I used an extendable ear first to make sure you blokes weren't doing anything compromising. Mum wants you. Time for dessert."  
  
"We'll be down in a few minutes," Harry promised.  
  
"Good. See you." The door shut and they were alone again.  
  
"Sometimes I really hate my family," Ron moaned, covering the back of his head with his arms. "Are you sure you really want to be with me? With us?" The questions were a bit muffled as Ron spoke them into his pillow.  
  
"Without a doubt." Harry gently tugged on Ron's hair so he was looking up at him, and Ron was astonished at the look of contentment shining on Harry's face before he leaned down to kiss Ron firmly on the mouth. "Always."  
  
Joy settled in Ron's chest.  
  
"Always," he agreed.  



End file.
